Through the Looking Glass
by Dendraica
Summary: 'Be careful what you wish for', as Harry learns when he accidentally steps through a portal to another parallel universe. A weird fic. Enjoy.


Harry was having a miserable summer. He slumped dejectedly on his bed and looked out the window, keeping his eyes fixed upon the car-less street below. He wanted out of Privet Drive so badly, he could scream. Ron had sent Pig over with the promise that he'd get Harry to the Burrow as soon as possible. "Hurry, Ron, please," Harry murmured, forlornly.  
  
Uncle Vernon had already driven Harry half-deaf from his yelling half and hour ago; and with reason. Dudley had gone through Harry's school trunk to be spiteful and see if he could tear up Harry's school supplies and gotten a swelling solution all over his fingers when he broke a tube of it out of Harry's potion-case. Dudley had gone screaming to Petunia and Vernon in the living room, dragging his watermelon-sized digits behind him on the carpet.  
  
Thus Harry was confined to his room for the rest of the summer and his trunk was locked up along with him. Harry sighed and walked over to it, opening the lid. Dudley had managed to rip up five blank scrolls, but fortunately no finished homework assignments. He'd snapped three quills, and ripped quite a few pages out of the middle of his Potions book. _Snape's going to have a field day when he sees the sorry shape my book's in_, Harry thought bitterly. _At least Dudley's learned never to mess with my trunk again. He's going to have to be hand-fed by Aunt Petunia until the Ministry comes over to fix his hands._  
  
A honking sound jerked him out of his reverie and he dared to hope.  
  
"Harry, come on! What're you waiting for? Let's go!" heard Ron yelling. Harry whooped in glee and dashed to the window. Ron, Fred, and George stood down below and Harry could just make out Arthur Weasley sitting in the driver's seat of the car parked on the opposite side of the street.  
  
"I'm up here, Ron! Going to need some help getting my trunk out the window. Uncle Vernon locked me in my room."  
  
"Oh, not again! That . . ." Ron called Vernon something that made Fred and George give mock gasps. George shook his finger in Ron's face and Harry laughed.  
  
Between all four of them, they managed to get Harry's trunk out of the window and Harry took Hedwig's cage and floated to the ground on his broomstick.  
  
"All ready boys?" Mr. Weasley asked. Upon recieving his reply, Arthur stepped on the gas pedal and drove out of Privet Drive. Harry utterly refused to look back.  
  


* * *

  
Harry could not resist the smile that spread across his face when he saw the Burrow just ahead of them. Arthur pulled into the garage and parked. "Now don't anyone tell Molly we used the car, or she'll be furious."  
  
"Oh I will, will I?" Molly said, from behind them. Everyone jumped guiltily. She glowered for a minute at Arthur then hugged Harry. "Glad you're here, dear. Come on, let's get your things inside."  
  
Fortunately, Molly wasn't fuming. She did give Arthur a scolding, but her worries soon turned back to the Burrow's roof. "Rainstorms are coming, I hear. Fierce winds, too. Arthur, we haven't gotten a professional weather-proof spell on that roof since seven years back. It's loaded with moss and mold and it creaks so horribly, I'm afraid it'll cave in on us as we sleep!" Molly fretted, as she bustled about, making dinner.  
  
"Molly dear," Arthur tried to soothe her, "It's lasted this long, hasn't it? Perhaps the storms won't be as bad as we think they will."  
  
"And maybe they'll be worse! Arthur, we can't have a house without a roof! And where are we supposed to go when it blows away?" Molly demanded, distraught that her husband wasn't taking this seriously.  
  
Mr. Weasley _was_ taking it seriously. His brow was wrinkled with worry although his voice remained calm, and Harry knew he was searching his brain for a solution they could afford. School supplies still needed to be bought, and the Weasley's amount of income had by no means grown any larger over the summer.  
  
Harry sighed and wished the Weasley's were the ones who were rich, instead of Malfoy. Draco had everything, and he was such a snob and a bully he didn't deserve it! It wasn't fair. Not fair at all. If only things were switched around somehow, Harry thought sadly. If only . . .  
  
"Fred, George, Ron, I need you three to come with me up to the roof and see what we can do. Grab your broomsticks."  
  
"Don't any of you set one foot on that roof!" Molly warned, shaking a soup-ladle for emphasis. "You could fall through and break your necks!" And with that, she turned back to the stew-pot.  
  
"Mrs. Weasley, is there anything I can do to help?" asked Harry, after the other boys and Arthur had gone outside.  
  
"You don't have to do anything, dear. You've done enough chores at the Dursleys to make you dizzy, I bet."  
  
"It's allright, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said, smiling. "If it helps you, I don't mind."  
  
"Oh, if you're sure . . . could you dust some furniture for me?" Molly asked. "That would be lovely."  
  
"Sure. Where do you keep the rags and polish?"  
  
"Rags and po -- bless you, sweetheart! I'm not going to ask you to do things the way the Dursleys make you do them. You can use this Feather-Sweep 33. Just tell it what to dust and it'll do the work for you. It's supposed to work nonstop for up to a twenty-hour period, but it's so old it's gotten rather deaf. I have to shout and often repeat myself twice to get the silly thing to dust just one piece of furniture. It gets irritating walking around the house with it. Are you sure you don't mind?" Molly asked, handing Harry the Feather-Sweep 33, which to all appearances looked like an ordinary feather duster.  
  
"I'm sure," Harry replied.  
  
Mrs. Weasley was right. The stupid thing was as deaf as a post. "No, don't dust the _doorknob_. I said dust the _wardrobe!_" Harry had to shout at it, once. The Feather-Sweep 33 cut down on the time it would normally take Harry to go about the job with rag and polish. It sucked up dust to the handle, and when you were finished, Molly had told him, you had to tell it to empty itself in the wastebasket.  
  
Soon, all the furniture was finished and Harry found boredom creeping in. The Feather-Sweep laid listlessly on top of the last wardrobe it had dusted. Harry wondered if it was possibly as bored as he was.  
  
"Maybe there's some furniture in the attic you can dust," Harry thought aloud. With an excited whirring, the Feather-Sweeper 33 was up and away toward the attic. "Now wait a minute, I didn't say to actually --" But it was already flying up the attic stairs. Harry grumbled and tromped up the stairs to retrieve it.  
  
When he reached the attic, he found the Feather-Sweeper buzzing around the room, cleaning anything with so much as a speck of dust on it. Harry grinned in amusement. The Feather-Sweeper's enthusiasm was almost putting Pig to shame.  
  
A gleam caught his eye and he spotted an ancient-looking full length mirror framed in elegant maple-wood leaning against the wall. Its silver surface was tarnished and the wooden part was coated in gray cobwebs and dust. The Feather-Sweeper darted towards it and began cleaning like crazy.  
  
Harry laughed. "You're going to wear yourself out completely, and I rather doubt you take batteries." He reached out for the Feather-Sweep's handle, and at that instant, the mirror's surface flashed white. Harry froze in surprise. A great force tugged him then, and his arm was yanked into the mirror up to his elbow. Harry struggled frantically, not knowing what was happening and not liking it one bit. The force grew even stronger and Harry could not stand a chance against it. As it pulled his whole body, along with the Feather-Sweep 33, through the mirror's gleaming surface, his last coherent thoughts were of Voldemort and whether or not he was behind this.  
  


* * *

  
"Urgh . . ." Harry moaned as he opened his eyes. He sat up, shakily and looked around, still clutching the Feather-Sweep in his right hand. He appeared to be where he started . . . in the attic. But things were different here. For one thing, the mirror's frame was black and wrought of wicked-looking iron. Harry got up and looked to his left and nearly screamed aloud with terror. A wolf-like creature's gaping face and yellow eyes stared at him from it's fixture on the wall, its head preserved so well that Harry wouldn't have known it was long dead were it not for the cobwebs stretched between it's jaws.  
  
Harry swallowed to compose himself and wondered why he never saw that in Ron's attic before. If this _was_ Ron's attic. At this point, only the mirror was in the same place and even then it looked different.  
  
Harry gulped and thought about Voldemort again. It had to connect with him somehow, but there was just one thing . . . Harry's scar wasn't hurting the least bit. _So,_ Harry guessed, _That means I'm in no immediate danger . . . I hope._  
  
He got up and walked toward the mirror. Cautiously, he put his hands on it. Nothing. Harry's heart sunk right to his shoes. Was he stuck here?! What was going on? And where on earth was he?  
  
"Oh come on, let me back in!" Harry cried in frustration at the dull mirror.  
  
"Harry?" asked a voice in great astonishment. Harry spun around joyfully.   
  
"Mrs. Weasley!" Harry frowned in puzzlement when he saw her. "Mrs. Weasley?" he asked, incredulously. Molly Weasley stood before him, bedecked in jewels and fine clothing. Her figure was slimmer and she had piled her hair on top of her head in a very glamorous hairstyle.  
  
"You . . . you look terrific!" Harry stuttered.  
  
Mrs. Weasley blushed and giggled girlishly. "Why thank you, Harry. Ron told me you were coming over. I see you used a portkey," she said, pointing to the Feather-Sweep 33.  
  
"Er, uh, yes." Harry didn't think it wise to say he'd gone through a magic mirror. It might upset her. And Mrs. Weasley's new looks and fine jewelry supported evidence that the Weasleys were rich. Harry smiled. If the Weasleys were rich, the ever-strutting Malfoy must be poor. He _had_ to see this.  
  
"Come downstairs, dear. Ron, Fred, and George are in the drawing room."  
  
Mrs. Weasley moved forward and took the Feather-Sweep 33 out of Harry's hands. "We can leave _this_ dirty old thing up here with the other worthless junk," she said disdainfully, setting it on a dust-coated pile of books. Beckoning to Harry to follow, she began walking down the stairs.  
  
Harry followed, a new discomfort growing in his chest. She was wearing a sneer that unpleasantly reminded him of Narcissa Malfoy. As happy as he was for the Weasleys' newfound wealth, he shrugged it off. Mrs. Weasley was a little cold, sure, but at least she wasn't _hateful._  
  
Mrs. Weasley lazily gestured toward the end of a corridor and told Harry he'd find Ron there. She walked on without him toward her chambers, without so much as a backward glance.  
  
The drawing room consisted of two sprawling sofas facing a fireplace. And over the fireplace, Harry noted with a funny twist in his stomach, was the emblem of the house of Slytherin.  
  
"Harry," Ron drawled, seated on one of the couches. Seated on the couch across from him, Fred and George looked up at Harry, in a dull, bored fashion. "You're not late, how surprising."  
  
"Used a portkey," Harry muttered, trying to act casual.  
  
"How thrilling," Fred said, in a monotone voice. "If you'll excuse us, we have some studying to do." Both Fred and George got up to go to their rooms.  
  
They looked so serious that Harry couldn't help but laugh.  
  
"What's so funny, Harry?" Ron asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"Sorry, it's just . . . Fred, George, you're more serious than Percy."  
  
Fred, George, and Ron looked at each other. "Harry," said Fred, "I know it's hard for you to remember these things, but really you must try harder . . . remind him, George."  
  
"Percy is no longer a Weasley. He's been disowned. Does that ring a bell, Harry?"  
  
Harry tried his best to cover his shock, and must not have succeeded very well because Ron shook his head. "Poor chap. He's getting a little worse everyday. Harry, Percy was disowned for gambling away the Weasley fortune. The poor fool failed miserably in all his studies and it was a blessing to us kids that Father cast him out on his rump. Otherwise, we'd have no heritage whatsoever to divide among us when the old man croaks."  
  
Harry frowned and masked it with a grimace of pain. "My stomach hurts," he lied, awkwardly.  
  
"Forgot to eat again, did you? Really, Harry. I don't know what's to become of you. Well, dinner starts in twenty minutes. I better give you a few pointers if you're to join us. If you've forgotten Percy, goodness knows what else you'll slip up on."  
  
According to what Ron told him, Harry was not to talk about Muggles, the Ministry, Percy, and a number of other things. He was actually, if he could help it, not supposed to talk at all as Mr. Weasley liked to be in charge of all conversation topics at the dinner table.  
  
After Harry had nodded in affirmation to the ground rules which Ron had told him with the air of a person who has recited them countless times. He settled back into the couch cushions, and preceeded to discuss Hogwarts.  
  
"It's really a shame you made Hufflepuff, Harry. But then, at least you were accepted to Hogwarts at all. The headmaster is such a bleeding heart, it's disgusting. He goes easy on _everybody_. Especially _Malfoy,_" Ron spat with disgust. "All because his father's in Akzaban for unpaid debts. Now the poor git has to work for --"  
  
"Ron, sir, dinner's ready," spoke a quiet, subdued voice at the doorway behind Harry. Harry froze in recognition. It couldn't be . . . could it?  
  
Ron got to his feet and whirled around, glaring daggers at the pale-faced servant boy. "How dare you interrupt me, Malfoy!" he snapped, coldly.  
  
Draco bowed his head in apology. Harry glimpsed a bruise under Draco's eye and from the way Ron was glaring at him, didn't doubt where it had come from.  
  
"Get on with you," hissed Ron, and Draco obligingly went back to the dining room to wait on the other Weasley's. Harry somehow morphed his face into an uncaring expression just in time as Ron turned back to face him. "Pure trash. He's got a lot of nerve for a penniless Muggle-lover. I'll tell Father to box his ears for it. Though," Ron continued with vehemence as he and Harry walked toward the dining room, "I don't see what good it does. Father's put the belt to him countless times and he still fancies he's higher than the rest of us."  
  
Harry swallowed his anger and quietly resolved to sit as far away from Ron as possible for the rest of the night.  
  
Ginny strode past them to claim her chair at the table. "Hello, Ginny," Harry ventured. Ginny looked at Harry as if he were a dead slug.  
  
"Oh great," she groaned. "There goes my appetite." Harry's eyebrows raised in surprise. _That_ was a new one . . .  
  
Dinner at the Weasley's was worse than any dinner he'd had at Privet Drive. At least Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia didn't talk about money constantly. Arthur Weasley was the stiffest, nastiest, most stuck-up man Harry had ever known. He doubted even Lucius Malfoy could be worse. _Or maybe they're just about the same_, Harry thought, picking at his food.  
  
He thought of the mirror longingly and a flutter of fear stirred within him. Was he going to be stuck in this place forever? Would he ever get back to his world?  
  
"Malfoy!" Arthur called sharply, over his shoulder. Draco appeared at his elbow, awaiting orders. "More bread," Arthur demanded, then sipped from his goblet. "And more wine. Make it snappy."  
  
"Yes, sir," Draco said, and went back into the kitchen.  
  
Molly was trying to coax Ginny into eating her peas and oysters. Arthur coughed for her attention. "Ginny, eat your food, or you'll go to bed hungry," Arthur snapped. "As I was saying," he continued the conversation with his wife.  
  
Draco returned with the bread and wine, and set the bread on the table. He was in the act of pouring Mr. Weasley some more wine, when he chanced to look at Harry. Draco's reaction was unexpected. He gasped, turning white with shock, and dropped the bottle which knocked over the crystal goblet, sending the crimson liquid splashing into Authur's lap.  
  
Arthur jumped up with a roar of anger, dripping with wine. "Damn you, idiot brat!" he snarled, slapping Draco viciously.  
  
"Master, please, forgive my clumsiness, it won't happen again!" Draco cowered.  
  
"It bloody hell better not!" Mr. Weasley yelled. He looked down at his garments and cursed. "I'm going to change. And when I come back, you are going to be in for a world of hurt, boy."  
  
Mr. Weasley stalked out of the room and Molly went after him, attempting to soothe her husbands' ire. Draco numbly began to clean up the mess he had made.  
  
"Nice going, Malfoy," Ron smirked. "_Real_ smooth."  
  
Draco did not look up from his cleaning and Harry felt deeply sorry for him. Before he could say a comforting word and give himself away, Ron tugged on his sleeve and guided him out of the room. Fred and George glowered without amusement at Malfoy and Ginny, happy to get out of eating peas and oysters, didn't even bother to look at him as she traipsed out of the dining area.  
  
Harry wondered what it had been to cause such a reaction in Draco. As he sat between Fred and George on the drawing room couch, listening half-heartedly to gossip about fellow members of the Slytherin house, Harry at last realized what had happened. He put a hand to his forehead as soon as it came to him; Draco had been staring at Harry's scar . . .  
  
It had never occured to Harry that he might not have a scar in this world. Why not? Everything else was so different . . . why wouldn't it be possible that Voldemort had not tried to kill him? And what if . . . what if that meant Voldemort hadn't killed his parents either?  
  
"Harry, are you allright?" Fred asked, peevishly.  
  
Dully, Harry realized that he still had his hand on his forehead. He brushed his unruly bangs over his scar before taking his hand away. The other Weasleys most likely hadn't noticed his scar yet, and Harry wanted to keep it that way.  
  
"I'm fine," he assured them. "Just tired." He had to get out of here. He had to try the mirror again. "Where's the bathroom?" he asked. Ron told him the directions and Harry gratefully took them, happy the bathroom was on the way to the attic. He passed the bathroom and headed up the stairs.  
  
He couldn't stand it any longer, he just couldn't. He had to leave this awful place. Ron was a jerk, Fred and George were as mirthless as boulders, Ginny was an absolute brat . . . Harry didn't want to stick around to find out how anyone else had changed.  
  
He flung open the attic door, and stopped short. The mirror was gone.  
  


* * *

  
Harry walked dejectedly downstairs and and back into the drawing room. He heard yells of protest coming from the kitchen and Ron was snickering softly. Even Fred and George appeared to be smirking. Perched on the back of the couch, Ginny swung her legs over the side, unconcerned and uncaring at what was going on.  
  
"Come on Harry, you're missing it. Father's really giving Malfoy a good walloping this time."  
  
Harry frowned. "I'm not interested," he said coldly, too worried about the mirror to care what Ron thought.  
  
Ron frowned back momentarily, then grinned at another sharp cry of pain from Malfoy. Harry trembled in anger and fought to control it. What could he do? He didn't have a wand and even if he did, Arthur Weasley was a far more experienced wizard than Harry was.  
  
"I should never have taken you in, you ungrateful little whelp!" he heard Arthur roar. A loud smack was heard and Draco whimpered an apology. "If it weren't for the enjoyment I get from telling Lucius to his face that you fail every subject at Hogwarts, I would have cast you out long ago!"  
  
"You . . . you liar! I haven't failed anything!" Draco cried, furiously. "Ron's the one that fails miserably! What, do you send my father _his_ report card instead of mine?" There was a long, deafening silence. Ron spent it by sputtering in breathless fury on the couch. Ginny snickered.  
  
"That one's going to cost him," Fred told George, matter-of-factly.  
  
"_Crucio_," Arthur hissed, and almost immediately after, Draco's screams filled the air.   
  
"NO!" Harry yelled, darting toward the kitchen. Ron and George darted upright to grab the back of Harry's robes.  
  
"Fred, stun him, he's gone crazy!" Ron cried over Draco's anguished screaming.  
  
"Be gentle, don't want to hurt him," George told his twin, holding tightly to Harry.  
  
"Right." Fred stood before him then, and lifted his wand. "Sorry chap, it's for your own good. _Stupify._"  
  


* * *

  
Harry moaned and opened his eyes. Twice in one day he'd been knocked out . . . he reached a hand up to rub his aching forehead. The household was silent and Harry looked at his surroundings. He realized that he was still in the drawing room, stretched out on one of the couches.  
  
A grandfather clock began to chime. Harry counted the chimes until they fell silent. "It's eleven o'clock . . . Fred must've hexed me pretty good."  
  
Slowly, as not to get dizzy, Harry sat up and swung his legs off the couch. He stood when he felt he was ready, and shambled towards the kitchen. He had never felt so alone in his life, and on top of that, he was hungry. Peas and oysters had never been his favorite meal, so he hadn't touched more than a biteful.  
  
He stepped into the kitchen and saw Draco. The boy was seated in a chair, with his head buried in his arms over the kitchen table. At first, Harry thought Draco was asleep, but then he saw Malfoy's shoulders heave with a sob. Harry drew closer and saw his arch-enemy shaking like a leaf.  
  
Tenderly, knowing what Draco had gone through, Harry put a hand on Draco's shoulder. Draco gasped and stood up. He tucked the chair back under the kitchen table, wiped his eyes and turned to face Harry. "Oh, it's you," he said, softly.  
  
"Malfoy, I'm sorry," was all Harry could say. "I . . . It's my fault you spilled the wine. You saw my scar, didn't you?"  
  
"Yes. Did you come through the mirror?"  
  
Harry perked up at this, wild hope springing into his heart. "The mirror? You know about it?"  
  
Draco smiled softly. "More than know about it, Harry. I've _been through_ it. Look, we can't talk here. Let's go to the basement. There aren't any tattle-tale portraits down there."  
  
Malfoy lead Harry down a flight of stone steps and helped Harry weave his way around piles of junk before they came to a small cot covered with a mattress pad and two moth-eaten blankets. Draco lit a candle on the small stool beside his bed that served as a table, then invited Harry to sit down on the cot.  
  
"I understand you can't get back to your world."  
  
Harry nodded miserably. "Same thing happened with me," Draco admitted. He gave a slight shudder, possibly remembering what he'd seen on his adventure. "What did _you_ wish for?"  
  
"What?" asked Harry, confused.  
  
"Before you found the mirror. What did you last wish for?"  
  
"I . . . I wished the Weasley's would be rich . . . and that you . . . would be poor," said Harry, realization dawning on him. "Did . . . did I create this world?"  
  
"No," Draco assured him. "You simply stumbled into it. This is an 'alternative universe' as wizards and Muggles alike call it. Muggles in their works of fiction, you understand. I doubt they actually go through portals then sit down and decide to write a book about it. Should that ever happen, the Ministry would make them forget it did. They'd go crazy, otherwise. Alternative universes can be horrible. They really can."  
  
"So if I wish for everything to be normal the next time I approach the mirror . . ."  
  
"You'll end up in a world without magic," Draco finished grimly.  
  
"Oh . . . bad choice of words then."  
  
"Wishing mirrors are very sensitive. You have to be careful what you wish for. I wished that my father would be out of Akzaban and I also wished that you'd be sane, when I made my first journey."  
  
"You . . . you wished I'd be sane?! What happened to me, Malfoy? What did Voldemort do to me? To my parents?"  
  
"Voldemort? Who's Voldemort?" Draco asked, confused.  
  
"The Dark Lord. Tom Riddle."  
  
Draco gave a sharp intake of breath. "No . . . no, you must be mistaken, not Riddle, never."  
  
"If Riddle's not Volde - I mean, the Dark Lord, what is he?"  
  
"He's the headmaster at Hogwarts, Harry. You'd never meet a kinder man," said Draco, softly.  
  
"_Riddle's_ the Headmaster? What happened to Dumbledore?"  
  
Draco shuddered. "Don't say the name," he muttered, his voice trembling.  
  
Harry's jaw dropped. "You've got to be joking . . . please tell me you're joking."  
  
Draco wasn't joking.  
  
"There's a lot about this world that would disturb you, Harry," he said softly. "Here, your parents are ashamed of your insanity to the point of hatred." Draco flinched. "I'm sorry . . . I shouldn't be telling you this . . . all you want to do is get out of here. I'll help you Harry. I promise."  
  
"Malfoy, it's allright. Tell me what happened."  
  
Harry listened as Draco unveiled the story of Harry's life - or what it could have been.  
  
"The Dark Lord, who you know as . . . as Dumbledore . . . well, I suppose I should start with Sirius Black. That's pretty much where it all begins."  
  
"Sirius? Oh god, I don't want to know what Sirius is like." fretted Harry. Draco touched his arm, gently.  
  
"It's my world, Harry. And you'll go back to yours again, I swear. But _not right now._ Not till you understand the way the mirror works. Or God knows where you'll end up next." Draco's storm-gray eyes were compassionate, but stern. Harry sighed, and nodded.  
  
"Now . . . where was I . . . Sirius. He'd always hated your father, for some reason. I don't know why. So he told the Dark Lord that your parents had defected to Riddle's side. Harry, I'm afraid I've got to tell you that . . . your parents aren't known for their bravery. That's probably what made it so easy for the Dark Lord to believe Sirius. When he approached the Potters with Black's charges, they groveled before him in such a way that . . . well, I guess the Dark Lord believed they were guilty as charged. He spared them, amused by their howls of protest and pledges of obedience. As punishment, he turned his wand on you, Harry. He . . . he used the Crucatius Curse . . . until you went insane."  
  
"I memorized that story, Harry, so that I could recall it, and forgive you whenever you sneered at me along with Ron or hit me because he told you to. It wasn't ever you, Harry. You wouldn't harm a gnat, I know. But Ron . . . he knows how influential you are. He controls you."  
  
"No he doesn't," snapped Harry. Draco flushed, embarrassed.  
  
"I . . . I know. I'm talking about the _other_ you. Sorry for not saying that to begin with. You - and I mean, _you_ - were very smart to play along with Ron. The Weasleys don't know about the mirror's powers. I discovered it when I was cleaning one day . . ." Draco trailed off, seeming to have lost his voice. "It was horrible . . . that's all I can say. And don't ask me. This place is bad enough for you. You seriously don't want to know what I found waiting for me in _that_ world."  
  
"Allright. I won't ask, then. But tell me more about this world. Why are you working for the Weasleys? I mean, I know about your dad . . . why he's in jail. But why the _Weasleys?_"  
  
"My father's debt is large, and my mother is dead. The Weasleys are the richest family around these parts. They send me to school and in return, I clean and serve them dinner along with the other servants. They pay me well, and at this rate, I'll have my father out of Akzaban within next year. If I got another job, Harry, Dad would die in prison. It would take too long . . . the Dementors would take every last hope from his body and even if he survived that, I'd be reunited with a shell of what my father once was . . ."  
  
Draco's voice was heavy with sadness. Harry put an arm around his shoulder, consoling him. As much as he detested the Ron of this world, he found himself liking Draco more and more. There was an aura of noble strength around the pale-faced boy that Harry had never seen before. This Draco was kind, thoughtful, and his gentle smile was one of the most welcoming things Harry had seen all day.  
  
"Draco, before I leave this place. Is there anything I can do?" Harry asked. He didn't like the thought of leaving Draco behind to this.  
  
"No, Harry. It would be best if you forgot me and never came back. I mean, I appreciate the offer, but . . . if you come back, what if this world's Harry is here and the other Weasleys see two of you? That'll be bound to raise some uncomfortable questions."  
  
"But Malfoy, you don't deserve this!"  
  
Draco smiled and shook his head. "I've thought that so many times . . . before the mirror . . . and when I came back, I actually kissed the ground. No lie. I was grateful I had the Weasley's for the first time in my life. I was grateful that things are the way they are here, because this is where I belong. I don't doubt you feel that way about your world?"  
  
"No. Even the Draco Malfoy over there is starting to look amiable."  
  
"Oh yes. Tell me about him, would you?" asked Draco. Harry did, apologizing everytime he called Malfoy in his world a dirty name. Listening with growing amazement, Draco shook his head at each apology and said that he probably deserved it.  
  
"When you get back, punch him in the nose for me, would you? He sounds like an absolute brat. Well, then again . . ." Draco trailed off. "Is he good-looking?"  
  
Harry rolled his eyes. "Really, now why would I care?"  
  
"Is he?"  
  
"I suppose. He looks just like you."  
  
"Right, then. Just sucker-punch the sod. Don't want to ruin his looks," Draco said. Harry looked sideways at him and both burst into laughter.  
  
"Draco," said Harry, at length. "Where is the mirror? It wasn't in the attic . . ."  
  
"It's down here, Harry. I summoned it right before Mr. Weasley . . ." Draco gingerly, fingered a bruise on his cheek. Harry grimaced in sympathy.  
  
"Are you _sure_ I can't do anything?"  
  
"Well, I suppose you could. Get Hagrid's autograph for me, would you? He's my absolute _hero_."  
  
"Hagrid?! My Hagrid?!"  
  
"Yep. Reubus Hagrid, the most famous Monster-Slayer in the world. He's dead now, sadly. Got himself eaten by a Horntail."  
  
"But . . . but my world's Hagrid isn't famous! He's a monster-_lover_!"  
  
"You're joking! A monster-_lover_?! Never!"  
  
Harry had to cross his heart that he wasn't fibbing.  
  
"Oh well . . . I wasn't serious anyway. You really shouldn't come back, like I said." Draco stood up and Harry did the same. "Right. Come on, Harry. Time for you to go home."  
  
"If I ever want to visit again, how would I get back here?"  
  
"Allright . . . I'll tell you. Think of me, and the mirror will take you here," Draco said. "If by any chance you land in a different or more hostile place, simply touch the mirror and think of one thing that's familiar from your home. Just one. Focus on it, and the mirror will take you back."  
  
Harry nodded that he understood. Both were nervous as they approached the mirror.  
  
"Are you ready, Harry?" Draco asked.  
  
"I think so."  
  
"Be seeing you, then. Think of nothing else but home. Remember . . ." Draco warned, and stepped back. Both boys looked at each other and silently hugged good-bye. For all they knew, they might never meet again.  
  
Harry understood now why things in his world should be left as they were. Even the smirking Malfoy in his world, or the looming threat of Voldemort . . . things could always be much much worse, even when they were already bad.  
  
"Good-bye, Draco," Harry whispered before turning to the mirror. "Home," he breathed. He thought of one thing only just as Draco had told him; he thought about Draco Malfoy waiting on the other side. Cold, smirking, Draco Malfoy, who lacked any of the contentment and confidence Harry had seen shining in the Draco of this world's eyes. He thought of this, and when he opened his eyes, white light was pouring from the mirror's surface. He put his hand through it and felt the pulling force. This time, he did not struggle.  
  


* * *

  
"Ohhh . . ." Thrice in one day. Harry wished the mirror had a safer way of --- "Oh no, no more wishes!" Harry told himself firmly. "Not around that thing, anyway."  
  
He looked around him and discovered by the light filtering through the window that it had hardly been a second since he left the attic. "Now how is that possible?" Harry wondered aloud as he saw Ron's broom fly by the window, descending towards the ground. His heart leaped in his chest. _Ron._ His best friend . . .  
  
Downstairs, Molly Weasley's cheerful voice called Harry for dinner and the smell of pasta and spaghetti sauce filled the air. He heard the Weasleys entering and the sound of chairs clattering and spoons hitting plates as they settled around the table and started eating. Harry bolted down the stairs and flung himself into Molly's arms.  
  
"Whoo! Harry! Are you allright, sweetheart?"  
  
"Aw, did ickle Harry get scared by the attic ghoul?" Fred teased, spaghetti sauce on his nose. He scowled when Molly wiped it off with a napkin. "Mo-om!" he cried, turning red.  
  
Harry laughed. "I'm just glad to be here, that's all."  
  
"Man, those Dursley's must be getting worse, every year."  
  
Harry sighed in relief. He was _home._  
  
"Arthur," Molly spoke up, voice edged with worry. "How was the roof?"  
  
"It's thin in a few places, dear. But we can fix it ourselves. I'll call Bill and Charles and ask them to come over. Glad to say, it wasn't as nearly as bad as we thought."  
  
"Yeah, mum, you worry too much," said George, through a mouthful of garlic bread.  
  
"Oh hush," said Molly. "It's a good thing I did, unless you'd like to get rained on while sitting on the john."  
  
Fred almost choked on his forkful of spaghetti and Arthur had to pound him on the back. Fred clapped his hands over his mouth, shaking with laughter and Harry, Ron, and the other Weasleys had no choice but to join in.  
  
Harry was almost through dinner, when Molly turned to him. "Harry, dear, did you return that Feather-Sweeper?"  
  
Harry froze, the fork halfway to his mouth.  
  
"No, Mrs. Weasley. It's upstairs," he said. _Yeah, in another world._ "I'll bring it down as soon as I'm finished."   
  
"Oh, don't worry. Bring it down whenever you remember to. I'm not going to need it till next week anyway. Thank you for dusting, love." Molly pecked him affectionately on the cheek, as she got up to take the empty salad and pasta bowls to the sink.  
  
Harry sighed as the table was cleared and a small smile formed on his face. It looked like he was going to visit Draco again after all.  
  
  


**The End**

  
  
  
_A/N: Well, that's my weird fic I promised you guys. It's kinda . . . well, weird. There's actually a lot of ideas I got that I didn't find room for in this fic. So for your amusement, let me just write them here. In this alternative world:  
  
Hermione is a dropout. She was once Draco's girlfriend and a fellow servant. When Mr. Weasley found Hermione making out with Draco, he sacked her immediately, disgusted that a 'Mud-blood' would dare to kiss a pure-blood. Needless to say, he punished Draco for it as well.  
  
Gilderoy Lockhart - and prepare to laugh - is the janitor at Hogwarts. He has a very low opinion of himself and almost never speaks his mind. He also doesn't take care of his appearance, but he's a nice fellow and Draco respects him, unlike Ron and his friends.  
  
Dumbledore, the Dark Lord in this universe, fell thanks to Tom Riddle and other wizards of the Ministry. They attacked Dumbledore after Harry Potter was driven insane by the Crucatius Curse. When Dumbledore had found out that Sirius Black's information was false, he had killed Black and as an 'apology present' to the Potters, he made them wealthy beyond their wildest dreams. Jealous, many Death Eaters turned from Dumbledore, including the Weasleys. Riddle and the other members of the Ministry found out that Dumbledore found himself lacking supporters. They chose this as the opportunity to attack, and won, though it was a costly victory. Only two wizards emerged alive and their names are legendary. Tom Riddle . . . and Filch. Among the heroic wizards that died fighting Dumbledore, Quirrel, Crabbe (senior), Goyle (senior), Nott, Peter Pettigrew, and Petunia Dursley. Dumbledore was not killed; he was transformed into a mouse and lives in a carefully guarded glass cage in Akzaban and he will stay there until he dies in that form.  
  
Severus Snape is the over-zealous prank-playing ghost of the Slytherin House. Draco hates him.  
  
Peeves is a Professor at Hogwarts who teaches the Potions class.  
  
Draco is in Gryffindor, much to the disgust of Ron and the rest of the Weasleys. Draco's best friends are Goyle; a genius who aces every class, and Crabbe; a sensitive poet and songwriter, and a big hit with the girls, especially Pansy Parkinson who has a huge crush on him.  
  
House-boggarts are horrid creatures that will wreck anything in a wizarding house if a knut - the shinier the better - is not left at the hearth each night, along with a bowl of cream. Dobby, the resident house-boggart of the Malfoy residence, flattened the house when the Malfoys ran out of money. Draco had no place to live and even worse, his father was taken to Akzaban to repay his debts. Debts which Lucius had no idea he owed until the Ministry came to collect them. Draco vows to get his father out of prison, and works under the Weasleys. He works hard and try as they might, the Weasley's usually can't find fault with the quality of his work. They do try, very hard, and go out of their way to make him miserable.  
  
Bill and Charles Weasley were stillborn. To this day, nobody exactly knows what happened, but many people like to say that Arthur displeased the Dark Lord somehow, and thus he caused the infant deaths while they were still in Molly's womb.  
  
Myrtle is the cheery, animated teacher for 'Care of Magical Creatures' at Hogwarts.  
  
Remus Lupin- 'member that creature's head in the attic? Well, Arthur bought it from a store in Knockturn Alley. The sales clerk __swore_ that Reubus Hagrid himself had slain the feared werewolf of Hogsmeade who had terrorized the town. Boy did he play Arthur for a fool. Turns out, the werewolf had been executed by the Ministry after some wizards had finally caught him. Someone managed to take the head home and magically preserved it before it could morph fully back to human form and mounted it on a thick base of maple-wood. That same person had sold it to the very store in Knockturn Alley from which Arthur purchased the grisly trophy. When he found out, Arthur disgustedly threw the mounted head in with the rest of the junk in the attic, not wanting to reveal he'd been fooled by demanding his money back.  
  
Some of these were creepy, ne? 'Specially that last one. Poor Lupin . . . now remember, this is a different universe, so he was an evil werewolf and an evil person too. I honestly don't know what came over me to write this fic . . . hope you got a kick out if it, nonetheless!  
  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K Rowling. 


End file.
